


Sweet to Taste

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Handcuffs, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, that's pretty much it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 16:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13907928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: “You have no idea how hot you are.”





	Sweet to Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Little Miss Innocent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3854809) by [LaughableLament](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament). 



> For International Women’s Day, some love for our Minnesota Sunshine.
> 
> Sequel to “Little Miss Innocent,” but the reference pretty much sums it up.

Dean hooks her against him. Thighs press the table’s edge.

“You have no idea how hot you are.” Stubble tickles. “I’m talkin,” warm press of his lips, “Dear Penthouse.” Tongue mines behind her teeth. “This one time, I ate donuts off a cop.” Nip at her earlobe and she buckles.

 _Ho-ly-Swiss_. Donna opens his flannel. Palms warm cotton underneath.

Dean sinks and peels her jeans down. Steadies her, stepping out, shoes and all. Touches her panties. “Hot.” Practical: cotton bikinis with little blue dots. Thumbs bump along the scalloped edges. He tugs his shirts off. Eyes flash and he slides up on a straight-backed chair. Drawls, “Sooo, Sheriff… You gonna interrogate me?”

Donna blinks.

Dean’s wrists cross behind his back. “Donna Hanscum.” Wink, invitation. “You’ve caught the notorious, un-killable and devilishly handsome Dean Winchester in your dining room.” Chest ripples. “What, are you gonna do?”  

She gulps. Handcuffs with her jeans, convenient by her feet. Dean watches, tracks her as she bends down, slips behind. Thick forearms, crooked fingers. Spiderweb scars inside his elbows, palms. Cuffs clink.

“I gotta tell ya, Sheriff;” broad shoulders roll, “you sure got a body to go with that badge.”

Donna swallows, plays along. “Hey, fella. You speak to me with respect.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wet smirk kicks up her heartbeat. “No disrespect. I just, notice you ain’t hauled me in yet.” Dean scoots down, angles his hips, “Way I see it, we could both get off here.”

Grin almost breaks before, “You’re awful confident.”

“How many times, you think, I can make you come?”

Shiver. “Some mouth on you, ya deviant.”

“Take them panties off and I’ll show ya.” Crinkles at his eyes, freckles across his nose, tongue stuck out. Fifteen years fall off him. “I dare ya…” chin hooks.

Donna draws a breath, slips her underwear down to her knees and lets them fall. Shirttails keep her covered—well, until she moves. Dean nods. Shiny, bitten lips, fluttery lashes. Donna’s face flames but she climbs up, spreads out on her great-grandmother’s Sunday table.

Wood thunks, Dean’s chair. Nose and lips and stubble tease. Shoulders wedge up under her legs. Tongue slicks, teeth spark. Flicking. Donna yelps and starts to squirm away.

Metallic clank and Dean’s arms hook her, hold her to him. Licks at her entrance, dips inside. Thumb, teases her hood and teeth rake her edges. Two days’ beard burns. She flaps at his head. Warm wet lips suck her in; Dean’s tongue connects.

Belly muscles crunch. Donna wails, “Oh, Susannah!” and Dean laughs against her, sends her for another loop. Donna pants. Limp as a dishrag, ’til he starts in kissing again. Livewire up her spine.

“That’s my girl,” and he slips this, licks that…

Donna claws the table edges. Shakes. Probably kicks him but who has legs? He backs off, nudges, drags her out. She shoves up on her palms. Shirt’s hiked up; sweaty mess and her hair’s a fright. Dean shines around his mouth. Still in his jeans, and he looks about to bust right through ’em.

“You wanna?” She slides down, straddles his lap.

“I could.” Dean licks his lips; tongue smacks and he hums. “Flip you over this table.” Handful of hair, nips at her neck. “I gotta warn you though, you got me so excited I’d blow in like five thrusts.”

Donna squeaks.

“Anyway, I like watchin’ you.” Both hands, knead her bottom. “Let’s move this party someplace softer, huh?” He tucks her face to his shoulder.

“Oh yah,” Donna sighs. Scratches circles in his chest hair. “Youuu betcha.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me,” naturally.


End file.
